


Chocolate Binge

by Sadbhyl



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-21
Updated: 2012-03-21
Packaged: 2017-11-02 06:44:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/366087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sadbhyl/pseuds/Sadbhyl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone comes knocking on Joyce’s door as she recovers from her wild day of debauchery</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chocolate Binge

**Author's Note:**

> Set at the close of Band Candy. Originally published November 14, 2004. Written for [](http://mydeira.livejournal.com/profile)[**mydeira**](http://mydeira.livejournal.com/) as part of the [](http://btvs-halloween.livejournal.com/profile)[**btvs_halloween**](http://btvs-halloween.livejournal.com/) challenge. With my unfair foreknowledge, I knew she had wondered what would have happened if Ethan had tracked down Joyce that night after seeing her with Ripper. And gee, I suffered so hard giving it to her . . .

Joyce’s head still buzzed.

Despite the late hour, she was still too jazzed up to sleep. The magic had mostly worn off, but the effects of the sugar and caffeine in the five pounds of chocolate she’d eaten that day were likely to linger for quite some time. She vowed again to do an hour a day on her exercise bike and eat nothing but salads and yogurt for the next month. She hated to think what this was going to do to her complexion. But of course that was the least of her worries.

She didn’t know how she was going to face Rupert tomorrow. . .

She had changed out of the juvenile go-go wear and into something more comfortable and more appropriate to her age, a slim red satin night slip and matching robe that made her feel much more sophisticated. The feather-edged coat hung neatly in her armoire. She ran her fingers through the feathers. She’d probably return it tomorrow. She was a good girl, after all. But tonight she’d remember the thrill of having someone steal for her just to make her happy.  
  
Finally she sighed and closed the closet door.

Joyce paused to check on Buffy on her way downstairs. Her daughter was sleeping soundly, wrapped tight around the little stuffed pig she and Hank had given her when she was two. It had a traumatic night for her. At least one of them was able to sleep it off.

At the bottom of the stairs she paused, trying to decide between the refrigerator and the television when a soft knock came at the door. She pulled the robe close about her and knotted the sash before opening the door.

The man standing there was familiar, although she couldn’t place him. He was tall and wiry, with dark hair and darker eyes, his face lined and craggy but with a hint of youthful glee.

“Can I help you?” she asked uncertainly.

“Mrs. Summers?” His voice was rich and resonant, his British accent tickling her ear. “I’m a friend of Rupert Giles.” He offered his hand. “Ethan Rayne. I’m sorry to stop by this late unannounced.”

She took his hand. “Not at all. Please, won’t you come in?”

“Thank you.” He gripped her hand warmly and she was surprised to feel a tremor run through her body. As he crossed the threshold, he looked around him. “You have a lovely home.”

“Thank you.” She slipped her hands into her pockets. “Did Rupert ask you to come by?”

“Hardly,” he chuckled, turning from his examination of the living room.

“I’m sorry, but do I know you?”

His smile was soft and alluring, but there was something almost predatory to it. “We’ve never been formally introduced. But I saw you tonight with Ripper.”

And then it hit her. “You’re the man from the warehouse. You did that spell on the candy!”

“Guilty.” He advanced towards her, placing himself between her and the doorway into the front hall. “But it wasn’t anything personal. Just business.”

“I’m sure that will make everyone feel much better about what happened.” Her heart was pounding in her chest.

He seemed to ignore her comment. “But I must admit you intrigued me.” He continued to move in on her.

“I can’t imagine why,” she stuttered, backing away. “There’s nothing special about me.” She stumbled into the arm of the chair, trapped.

“You don’t think so?” He raised an eyebrow at her. “You didn’t see the look on your face when you pulled out those handcuffs, my dear. It was enough to make a worldly man hard. And I consider myself a very worldly man.” He reached out to gently finger a lock of her hair. “What did you do with the handcuffs, Joyce?”

An image flashed in her mind of Rupert, his hands locked over his head as she . . . She turned away, unable to meet his eyes.

He chuckled. “It must have been something delicious to make you blush like that. You’re stunning when you blush.” He moved even closer, toying with the collar of her robe. “I could tell just by watching Ripper that you must be something special. I knew him at that age, and he was a selfish, self-serving tit. You’re the first girl I’ve ever seen him show any real concern for.”

Her breath was coming erratically as he gently pushed the robe off her shoulder, baring her skin and the thin strap of her gown. “You knew Rupert? Before, I mean?” She tried to distract him.

“Oh yes,” Ethan stepped even closer, his eyes focused on the skin he’d revealed. “Ripper and I knew each other . . . intimately.” He breathed the last word against the curve of her throat, making her tremble all over again. She couldn’t help but gasp softly at the erotic thought of the two men naked together.

“You like that, do you?” He spoke low against her ear. “I knew you had hidden depths to you.” She felt his hand course over her stomach to deftly untie the knot sitting there, allowing her robe to fall open. “You have quite a list of delicious kinks already, and I’ve only known you for ten minutes. Handcuffs, voyeurism, gay sex. Is seduction by a stranger in your own house on that list?”

Apparently it was, because Joyce couldn’t tell him to stop. “Why are you doing this?” she begged instead as he pushed the robe off to fall to the floor at her feet.

“Because in the ten minutes I’ve known you, I’ve decided I want you for myself.” His quiet voice was intense as he gently pulled her tight against his hard body. She was keenly aware of his trapped erection prodding at the soft curve of her stomach. “Let me taste you, Joyce,” he whispered in her ear. “Please, just let me have a taste.”

This shouldn’t be happening. She shouldn’t let this happen. She didn’t know him. The only thing she knew about him was that he was a powerful sorcerer who had just enchanted the entire town. And that she couldn’t bring herself to tell him no.

“Is this magic?” she murmured, her eyes locking on the thin, firm curve of his mouth.

“Oh no, my dear.” He chuckled again, and she felt the vibrations all along her torso. “This is powerful attraction. And no small amount of skill.”

And then he was kissing her. She had to grant him on the skill. Every caress was exquisite finesse as his lean, strong hand slipped under the weight of her hair to curve around her neck, his other hand resting comfortably on the small of her back, holding her in place. Her hands came up to rest on his arms, and she was surprised to find well-defined muscles there. She relaxed into the intimacy of that slow, rich kiss and allowed herself to explore further. Her hands moved tentatively up his arms to follow the line of his shoulders to his breastbone, allowing her palms to rest on the solid curve of his pectorals.

“Unbutton it,” he encouraged against her lips, and unreasoningly she felt as though he had given her a present.

She shouldn’t be doing this. This was so definitely wrong. She should push him away; make him leave. But her hands paid her head no mind, deftly unbuttoning the wine-red shirt to reveal the sparse tangle of curls that decorated his chest and trailed down to circle his navel before continuing on down promisingly. His muscles flinched as her fingers brushed against his stomach, and on instinct she slipped her hand beneath the fabric and dragged her nails across the delicate skin of his belly.

His response was immediate. The flesh beneath her fingertips clenched and he pulled his head away, sucking a breath in through his teeth as he closed his eyes. When he opened them again, they shone with a kind of dark joy that only encouraged her. He pulled her close again, not hindering her exploration of the bare skin and toned muscles of his chest. But rather than reclaiming her mouth, he bent his head to lap in short, firm strokes up and down her pulse point. “It’s as though you knew I was coming.” His words vibrated against her skin. “All dressed up and lovely.” His hands slid over the satin of her slip, following the curves of her back and waist. “This color is beautiful on you.”

She tugged his shirt out of his trousers. “Flatterer.” The feel of the warm planes of his bare back against her palms was electric.

“It’s the god’s honest truth,” he insisted, moving up to nuzzle her hair near her ear. “And I don’t give that lightly.” He delicately traced the strap of her gown before bending to stroke his lips along the sensitive hollow of her collarbone. “I want to take you to your bed.”

Joyce’s already uncertain legs went weak, and she sagged against him. “We can’t,” she said softly against his chest as he supported her. “Buffy’s asleep next door.”

He tipped her head up, his mouth catching hers again, tongue tracing the outline of her lips gently before he answered her. “Don’t you worry about that. She won’t hear a thing, I promise you.”

She looked into his eyes, saw the dark intensity there before he kissed her again. She couldn’t think when he did that. “Upstairs.”

His fierce smile was all the warning she had before he swung her up into his arms and carried her through the living room and up the stairs. At the upstairs landing, he paused. “Which way?”

“Right. End of the hall.”

He pivoted and strode purposefully down the hall, carrying her over the threshold of her room and kicking the door shut gently behind them before allowing her to slip back to her feet at the foot of the bed. He shrugged off his shirt as he returned to worshipping her neck, the feel of his bare arms wrapping around her making her feel both protected and possessed at once. His mouth followed the line of her shoulder down to the strap of her slip, then followed it down as he pushed the fabric slowly over the curve of her shoulder and down her arm. His other hand caught the strap on the other side and drew that down as well, until the weight of the gown itself dragged it down her body in a slithering heap.

She flushed as his eyes ran over her nude form hungrily, but she resisted the urge to cover herself. “I don’t normally wear underwear to bed,” she explained hesitantly.

He chuckled, pulling her back close, the first contact of her bare breasts against his naked skin delicious. “Nothing to be ashamed of,” he purred in her ear. “I don’t wear them ever.” He gently butted his hips against her.

“Never?” Feeling suddenly a bit bold, she slipped her hand between them to cup him firmly, giving truth to his statement.

Eyes hooded seductively, Ethan purred, “Why don’t you find out for sure?”

She was undressing a strange man in her bedroom with her daughter sleeping less than fifty feet away. But she didn’t care. The button of his trousers gave way easily, and she carefully lowered the slide on the zipper, not wanting to accidentally hurt him. He rotated his hips and his pants joined her gown on the floor.

Her heart was pounding as she boldly returned his earlier scrutiny. He was lean and strong without being muscular, and tanned every place she could see. Her eyes widened as she took in his cock, long and not overly thick, heavy veins criss-crossing along the length of it. It stood upright, dusky and erect from the blood that filled it.

“Do you want to touch?” he asked, his voice husky with desire.

“I . . .” Uncertainty overcame her for a moment. It seemed like such an intimate action, one bred of familiarity. She hesitated.

Never taking his eyes from hers, he took her hand and guided it to him.

The dry, taut skin was warm as the backs of her knuckles brushed against him before she opened her hand to wrap around it. The heft of his cock was a comforting weight in her hand, the head spongy and firm beneath her thumb, and she could feel his rapid pulse throbbing in the veins against her palm. That surprised her, to feel the truth of his reaction. He seemed so calm. Her eyes, which had drifted down to watch her hand, moved back up to meet his.

“Don’t stop,” he begged hoarsely.

She tightened her grip and dragged slowly back and forth along his length.

He let out a shuddering sigh of relief, his head falling forward to rest against her forehead. “You have amazing hands,” he said fervently, his own hands coming up to cup her breast. She gasped softly at the sensation but never broke the rhythm of her own strokes. He tilted his head and caught her mouth, delving into it decadently as his other hand moved over her stomach.

When his fingers slid over her curls into her sensitive folds she cried out, barely restraining herself from screaming by the simple expedient of throwing her arm over her mouth.

He released her breast to trail his hand through the air with a flourish. All the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end as the air around them thickened, pressing on her ears until they popped. His hand returned to caressing her breast, pressing her backwards towards the bed as the hand between her legs continued its intimate exploration.

“I told you,” he said, his voice heavy and commanding, “no one will hear us. Don’t hold back anything. I want to know every sound you can make.” He tripped her smoothly to tumble her onto the bed, kneeling over her astride one leg, his weight supported on his free arm which was braced against the mattress near her head. She clutched at his wrist, whimpering breathlessly as she held the hand between her thighs in place. He licked his lips slowly before lowering himself to tongue over her nipple.

This time she did cry out.

That was almost as liberating as this illicit sex itself. She’d always been vocal during sex, but had been forced to restrain herself. Hank had been uncomfortable with it, even back when they were in college. He was constantly worried someone would hear, and what would they think? And with Rupert, well, they’d been in public. No matter how uninhibited she’d felt, there was still the fear of getting caught. To have someone actually encouraging her to let go of all restraint was overwhelming.

He lowered himself to tongue again over the aureole of her far breast in a firm, spiraling stroke as his curious fingers entered her for the first time. “Oh god!” Her hands came up to clutch at his head. She felt him smile against her breast, and then he settled himself more comfortably to nurse her nipple, his long fingers slipping into her to draw out the thick juices he found there and pull out again to coat it over her clitoris. She writhed against his slow torture, begging, cursing, praying for more, one hand resting on his soft, wiry hair, the other on his bicep which flexed and corded with his every movement. “Ethan please oh god what don’t oh god yes please don’t stop!”

“Don’t fight it,” he urged against her breast. “You’re almost there. Just let it all go, Joyce. Come for me.”

He coupled his words with the addition of a third finger into her channel, curving up into her most sensitive spot as he thumbed roughly over her clit.

A low, throbbing wail ripped from her chest as her orgasm tore through her. She convulsed beneath him, held in place by the commanding weight of his body as he moved up to pour comfort and encouragement into her ear. “That’s it. There’s a good girl, just let it all go. You look unbelievable when you come, did you know that? Beautiful, sexy girl.”

Finally she collapsed, panting from exertion and cradling her head against his shoulder. He gently stroked her hair, curling around her protectively. But she could feel the weight of his erection resting on her thigh and his hips subtly undulating against her. She turned her head and caught his mouth with her own as she shifted her hips to settle him into the well of her pelvis. His kisses became more fervent as he prodded for entrance.

She pulled back her head to admire his eyes, sultry and even darker with desire. “Do you want me, Ethan?” she asked in a low, voluptuous voice.

He closed his eyes, looking almost vulnerable. “Oh god yes.”

Brazenly she leaned forward to catch his earlobe between her teeth. “Then what are you waiting for?”

He actually growled. The animal sound of it sent chills through her which were quickly overwhelmed as he forced his cock into the tight muscles of her pussy.

They both cried out, but he didn’t stop moving, drawing in and out of her in long strokes to quickly establish a demanding rhythm. Resting his weight on the length of her body, he dragged his hands down her arms to her wrists, drawing them up over her head and pinning them there as his mouth devoured hers. She lifted her legs to curve around his waist, letting him get even deeper into her.

He interrupting his cadence to pull his mouth away, looking down at her as his hips continued pistoning into her. “Tell me who wore the cuffs,” he demanded, his voice heady and rough.

His command touched at something deep inside her, something that understood the dynamics of power and control better than she did. Seizing the opportunity, that part rose up and took her over. Breaking his grip on her arms, she reversed the hold, dropping her legs to push forcefully against the mattress, rolling them so she was in the superior position, his wrists now pinned down. She gasped audibly as the new position drove him even deeper into her, making him groan.

“He did,” she confirmed, flexing her legs to begin rising and falling over him. “I had him chained down to the hood of a police car in the middle of Main Street while I sucked him off in front of God and everybody. Is that what you wanted to know?”

“Christ, woman!” he cursed, bucking up into her downward thrust.

She leaned forward, staring right into his eyes. “Don’t you wish it had been you?”

His head rolled back, his eyes closing. “Yes. Oh god, yes.”

She sat up, releasing his wrists. “Too bad you missed your chance.”

His hands were instantly on her hips, guiding her as she increased her pace. “Then fuck me now. God, please Joyce, fuck me.”

She rested her hands lightly on his chest, accepting his surrender. “Don’t worry,” she soothed, never slowing her pace. “I’ll take care of you. Just trust me.”

She was surprised to feel tension she hadn’t recognized ease out of him. He rested his head back against the pillows, lifting his hands to cup and fondle her breasts as they moved above him. He looked suddenly so content, so at ease that she leaned forward to kiss him softly. He caught her head, holding her in place as he sucked intimately on her lower lip, his fingers combing through the curtain of her hair. She could feel every soft grunt of pleasure as he breathed into her mouth, felt him hitch and groan, his hands in her hair clutching tight as control slipped away from him.

She swiveled her hips as she slammed down onto him and with a guttural shout he exploded into orgasm.

The jerking, spasming thrusts and the pressure of his ejaculate filling her triggered her own release. She collapsed forward to support herself on her arms, arcing over him as she frenetically stroked her way through her orgasm, feeling his arms come around her to draw her down into his embrace as she surrendered to it, finally falling onto his chest in limp relief.

They lay like that for quite a while, neither speaking, only changing position for her to dismount from his hips to spoon up against his side, her head still resting on his chest. He gently stroked her hair, her shoulder, the soft side of her breast, anything he could reach without disturbing their peace.

Finally, though, Ethan pulled away, gently so as not to unsettle her as he rose from the bed and began looking for his clothes.

Joyce pulled a pillow under her, curling her arms around it, partly as a defense and partly as a replacement for him. “I don’t suppose it would make a difference if I asked you to stay.”

He didn’t look at her, instead scanning the floor for his socks. “It wouldn’t be a good idea. Better I’m out of the way before the regrets set in.”

“You’re so sure I’ll have them?”

“Of course you will.” He sat down next to her to pull the found socks on. “You aren’t the kind of woman to have casual sex with a complete stranger. Come morning you’ll want to forget all about this.” He rose to pull up his trousers.

She sighed. “After tonight, I’m not sure what kind of a woman I am.”

Shrugging into his shirt, he paused, reaching down to curl his finger through a disheveled lock of her hair. “You’re a good woman, Joyce Summers. Whatever happened tonight was beyond your control. It doesn’t change who you are.”

She rose up on her elbows, eyeing him meaningfully. “I think I was very much in control.”

He chuckled appreciatively. “True, you were. Mistress.”

“Will I see you again?”

He began buttoning his shirt. “Doubtful. It’s in the best interests of my own well being to stay as far away from Ripper as I can for a while. There are parts of my body I’d definitely like to keep in place. Besides, you don’t want it getting around that we had an encounter. It wouldn’t be good for your reputation.”

“Maybe you should let me worry about that.”

“Maybe.” He shrugged. He reached out a hand to cup her face, gently stroking his thumb over her cheekbone. “Now I understand what Ripper admires in you so.”

She closed her eyes as he kissed her softly one last time. “Good night,” he said thickly, then disappeared silently through the bedroom door.

She lay there for a long time afterwards, trying not to think too much. Whatever Ethan might believe, she knew that something had changed for her, within her, tonight. She only knew one thing for certain.

Facing Rupert tomorrow was going to be even more difficult . . .


End file.
